Give a Little of My Heart
by Chasingpaper14
Summary: When a death row inmate is approached by a phony priest minutes before his execution, he finds his life changing in an instant. He learns of things he thought were impossible, and begins to believe in the unbelievable. A mostly canon retelling of the events leading up to the meeting between Tate and Bo in the pilot episode.
1. Death Row

**Contains spoilers for the pilot. Some scenes may be in a slightly different order from the show for better storytelling. Title is taken from the song at the beginning of episode, which to my knowledge hasn't actually been named yet. Dialogue borrowed from the show, but the rest is my own.**

* * *

Two counts of felony murder.

That's what they were calling it. Two lives brought to a sudden end by his own hands, the hands of a killer.

But he wasn't a killer. He was innocent. He'd repeated it like a mantra from the day he was arrested. Again when he was charged. And every day for the last seven years he'd spent rotting away in this miserable, dank cell with its mucky peeling walls that may have once been cream, but were now a dirty grey.

They hadn't listened.

The prisoner was perched on the end of the bed, shallow, raspy breaths hinting that not enough air was getting into his lungs in the wake of the panic attack he was having. His face was hidden by shaking hands, curtained by a mane of straggly, untrimmed hair suggesting a broken spirit that had once been a fighter, but now awaited his grisly demise with dull acceptance. There was nothing left to fight for, no way to prove his innocence in the light of his final moments.

He felt out of place, clad in prison orange that stood out horribly against the colourless furnishing. Well, the sink, the table, the toilet and the bed anyway, he didn't exactly live a life of luxury here and charged killers apparently never got anything more than the bare minimum. But in truth he was out of place, he didn't belong here because he wasn't a killer. Criminal maybe - he'd had his fair share of run-ins with the law, but he'd never murdered anybody. And he had little under an hour to prove that.

Keys rattled at the door beyond the bars of his cell, and at that moment enough dread to last a lifetime pooled in the pit of his stomach, tearing at his insides and churning up a dizzy sense of nausea. He didn't have anything to throw up though; his final meal was still untouched in the centre of the room. It was no different from any other meal he'd eaten on the inside, nothing special or fancy commemorating his last day on earth. Just a sorry looking bread roll among other things he didn't want to question.

It couldn't be time already; he must still have a few minutes. Unless, they were so eager to get rid of him that they had pushed forward his execution. He dug his nails into his palms until they turned white, and left little crescent moons embedded in his skin. He wasn't ready. He needed more time, just a few more minutes then he'd think of something.

Instead, a guard entered his cell with another man, a bald, dark skinned figure with rounded spectacles, dressed in a plain black suit and clerical collar. His hand held what looked to be a beaded necklace. Oh, prayers beads, he found on closer inspection. The man, better know as Milton Winter, hovered by the door, examining the prisoner with an unreadable expression, but somewhere between unease and sympathy, with just a hint of curiousity.

The guard, clearly the unsympathetic type, drew his baton and drew it loudly across the cell bars.

"Wake up caveman, your priest is here."

He fumbled with a ring of keys and unlocked the door.

"It's a little game we like to play," he added with a smirk. It was easy to deduce that it wasn't the first time the guard had poked fun at the inmate.

He stood back to allow the priest into the small room.

"You 'gonna be okay in here?" he asked, as the priest paused before the cell, still transfixed by the trembling mess of a man that had yet to look up from his feet. He knew so much about the man before him, some things the prisoner didn't even know himself. But knowing was not seeing, and to finally meet the man who would soon become Bo's protector, he couldn't help but feel some apprehension. He had been questioned frequently on his desicion to choose the death row inmate to entrust with the girl's safety, but he knew deep down he was the only one capable of the task. For reasons only he understood.

"I'm fine. Thank you," Milton offered finally, having realised he had yet to answer.

He moved forward as the door was locked behind him and the guard left. He took off his fedora, holding it in both hands in a neutral gesture.

"Good evening," Milton addressed the man, placing his hat down on the old wood table.

"I didn't ask for a priest," the male scoffed in reply. He needed more than a priest to get him out of this, he needed a damn miracle. He wasn't religious, but if there really was someone up there looking out for him, he would gladly accept a favour or two, in return for promises to become a better person that would most likely remain unfulfilled.

"You have such a long history of violence, Mr Tate. First arrested at fourteen, after that numerous arrests for robbery and assault. Now you're being executed for two counts of felony murder in thirty minutes, and you have nothing to confess?"

"I'm innocent. I was set up," Tate mumbled in between breaths - his shaking by now developing into full fronted convulsions that wracked his entire body. The priest seemed oblivious to his distress, or he was too polite to comment. He knew time was ticking, and he didn't want to spend his last minutes being told what he already knew.

"They've no reason to believe you, do they? No one ever did. No friends or family have come to be with you today, nor in the seven years that you have been in here." He took a stole from his bag - a long purple satin scarf with embroidered golden crosses - and laid it over his shoulders. Two thirds of a con was looking the part, after all, and there was a security camera pointed towards the cell, so this had to be done right or not at all.

"It must be very difficult to maintain hope, remember who you once were."

"I don't need a confession," came the gruff reply as the prisoner drew another shaky breath.

"Well, thank God for that," Milton announced, straightening up with a smile and looking far too pleased with himself despite the severity of the current circumstances. Tate finally looked up, confusion etched across his face as he sought out an explanation for the sudden outburst, and Milton was secretly pleased he had finally caught his attention.

"We live in a world where everyone wants forgiveness, but no one has permission." Milton sat down, picking up a bible in his other hand.

"What do you want?" Tate finally asked, wishing the priest would either lose the cryptic remarks and be blunt about his intentions or let him be alone in his final few minutes. He deserved that much.

Milton Winter smiled, allowing the silence to pan out between the two as he watched the inmate. It was a while before he spoke again.

"I'm here, to help you escape."

_To be continued._


	2. Road to Ruin

**Thank you so much for the amazing feedback! Here is the second chapter. I've played around with the order of the scenes to keep you guessing at what's coming next, but I haven't moved away from the storyline. There are no transcripts for the show, so the speech may be a little off at times, especially in future chapters because some of it is very hard to make out. Reviews are welcome and much appreciated, your support is always encouraging.**

**Chapter contains fairly graphic scenes of violence.**

* * *

_The night before..._

_A lone car travelled down the desolate road, its headlights illuminating the rain pelted path before it. It was late, and not a car had passed the vehicle for the last half hour. Unsurprisingly - they were a good distance away from civilisation after all. The rain wasn't letting up; leaving the wind screen wipers marching back and forth across the window in full swing to ensure the road could be seen clearly._

_"Even though the world is dark, try to light a little part. Don't go run and hide. Give a little of my heart, only then the beat will start. Keeping me in time. Life doesn't wait for long..."_

_The little girl's melody carried through the car, despite the heavy showers._

_"Hey Bo, what song is that?" Bo's foster mum turned to look at the girl in the back seat, clutching a turtle cuddly toy as she sung. _

_They had only been caring for the child for a short time, but already Bo had impacted on their life more than she realised. She and her husband hadn't been sure about taking on a foster child at first, but now she wasn't sure what she'd do without the girl._

_"It's from my dream," Bo replied, rather matter-of-factly. _

_It wasn't the first time her dreams had given her insight into what she wouldn't have known otherwise. In fact, a lot of her understanding of people came from her dreams. It was how she'd know if someone was sad or in need of help, because her dreams had told her. She couldn't explain it so she just didn't think too much about it. She carried on humming, clutching the turtle to her chest tightly, which had become a lifeline for her with the constant change of families and scenery. She seemed to spend most of her young life being passed around._

_"That's sweet," the woman replied, turning her attention to her phone as it sounded. "Oh, Tracy emailed me. The new couch came in. That's like, a little greener than I thought..."_

_"Probably just the pictures," her husband replied with little enthusiasm, distracted by the car behind them as he watched it in the rear-view mirror, concern knitting across his brow as it closed the distance between them too quickly to be just a casual driver. "Go around!" he muttered, shaking his head as he turned back to the road._

_Their car was suddenly jolted as it was hit from the side, the overtaking car swerving intentionally into them. Bo screamed. "What's going on?"_

_"Oh my God, Bo, are you okay Bo? It's alright, its 'gonna be okay," her foster parent turned around to face Bo to continue comforting the girl, while the other car pursued them, quickly gaining speed once again._

_"Hang on!" her husband warned them as he braced the car for another impact. They collided again, Bo now crying as their car swerved on the road, before hitting the side rails and flipping over to roll down the banking. Bo had blacked out before they reached the bottom, the plush turtle falling from her limp grip and rolling under the car seat._

* * *

_"Peggy?" Bo's foster dad called out painfully into the darkness, the car now laying upside down in a woodland ditch at the foot of the steep banking. He hung down from the seat, held in place by his seatbelt as he felt warm liquid run down his temple. "A-are you okay?" he gasped, the crash having most likely broken several of his ribs among other injuries. _

_"I don't...I think so..." Peggy choked in reply. The two cried out as the car slid a little further in its unsettled position, letting out a disturbing noise as metal creaked and groaned._

_"Take Bo. Take her...take her..." He knew he wouldn't be able to get far in his condition. But he knew they still had a chance if they left him behind. "Call Channing. They've found her..."_

_Peggy scooped the unconscious child out of the car and into her arms, painfully limping away from the wrecked vehicle. _

_"I'm coming. Don't worry, I'm coming." Another voice rang out as a figure climbed down the banking. Peggy carried on stumbling forward, she too bleeding and bruised as she looked for cover amongst the trees._

_The figure, a woman dressed entirely in black_ _crouched by the driver's window of the upturned car. "Oh my God. Oh my God, are you okay?" her hands moved to hold his head still_. _"Are you hurt?" _

_"Call an ambulance!" the man spluttered, but the woman just shook her head._

_"Maybe this will help," she soothed, before breaking his neck in a single, clearly practised move. _

_The crash had been bad, so the injury would go unnoticed in a formal police report. She released her hold, and the now dead man slumped forward. She straightened up, frowning as she looked around for the mother and child. They weren't in the car, but she knew they couldn't have gone far. She flexed her hands casually, making her way towards the sobbing coming from the undergrowth. Rain soaked through to her skin, her clothes hanging heavy on her lithe frame. She was shivering slightly, but the adrenaline from the kill was pumping through her, so she hardly noticed._

_Peggy cried out as she saw the figure approaching, clutching Bo's still form tighter. She had been chosen to protect the girl and had failed, they had found her and who knows what would happen now. She shook with hysterical sobbing as she pleaded with the woman, but it was a mostly incoherent stream of words._

_"No! She's just a little girl, please!" _

_The assassin crouched before the two, cupping the woman's face in what would have been a tender gesture in other circumstances. Now it was a twisted mockery._

_"I don't care," she answered coldly, before snapping her neck and lowering her down to the muddy ground, wreching the child from her cold, dead grip. Her only concern was retrieving the girl, and she didn't care what she had to do to make that happen. She smiled - a chilling, cruel grin of satisfaction._

_"Put her down. Put her down! Don't move her, I'm a doctor!" a man was running up to where the child lay, and only then did the assassin notice the ambulance parked on the road at the top of the banking. She sighed at the disruption, but stood up and backed away to give the man room, trying her best to act like a casual bystander._

_"Thank God!" she exclaimed in fake concern, before rolling her eyes as the paramedic crouched in front of the girl. This was only a minor setback. She would have to wait..._


	3. Prison Break

_"I'm here, to help you escape."_

There was a pause in the uneven breathing of the prisoner, as the concept of that hit him like a ton of bricks, knocking the breath out of him and leaving him speechless. Freedom. He'd forgotten what that was. But it couldn't be true; things like this didn't happen to guys like him. He had no contacts in the underworld, nobody who would care about him even the tiniest bit to go to such extents to break him out. He just didn't understand, and he didn't like not understanding.

"So if I say yes, what's the catch?" he finally found his voice, even though it broke a little at the end.

"Well I'm not just freeing you, I'm hiring you," the priest, who Tate had deduced wasn't actually a real priest replied, and the inmate scoffed.

"Last night a man and a woman died in a car accident. They were foster parents to a little girl named Bo," the man continued.

* * *

"This is never 'gonna work..." A woman was sat in the back of a surveillance van parked a short distance from the prison, hand steadying the headphones atop her head.

She and a couple of others were listening to the conversation between Milton and the inmate through a bug in the prayer beads the priest held. Janice Channing, as she was known had expressed her dislike of their plan to break the inmate out from the minute it had been suggested, and had stuck with that viewpoint. She just couldn't understand why out of all the people they could choose to protect Bo, Milton Winter had chosen a death row prisoner responsible for two murders. It didn't make sense. But Channing trusted Milton and knew he had his reasons for everything. If he said it would work, it would work.

She only realised she had zoned out when she was disturbed by a sharp static noise coming over the headphones.

"Winter, careful with the beads," she spoke into the microphone, connected to a wireless earpiece Milton wore on the inside.

* * *

The fake priest shifted the beads in his hand. "But this wasn't an accident. It was a failed attempt to kidnap this little girl. And now she's at St. Ann's hospital and we need to get there before the other's do."

"Yeah well guess what, I'm not a kidnapper," Tate replied instantly, his face a picture of disbelief at the whole concept. He was still convinced it was a setup, he had no idea why they needed him - he'd never even met the man before today. He knew nothing about any kid named Bo and he had less than five minutes before he was being executed, and he was spending those precious minutes discussing ridiculous fairytales with a bogus priest. He realised he was still shaking.

"I'm not asking you to kidnap her, I'm asking you to save her."

Tate still shook his head, looking back down at his feet. It was all lies, lies, lies and he couldn't take any more of them. He'd spent the last seven years of his life and most of his twenties in a cell because of one big lie.

"This little girl is very important, and you have-" the man paused to check his watch. "Four minutes and fifty four seconds to decide."

Tate suddenly kicked the dinner tray across the room. He couldn't take it anymore. "The hell you talking about? Huh?" he stood up, walking towards the priest, fuelled by his anger of being forgotten about, being left to die here without anyone giving a damn. Seeing the priest smile nervously only frustrated him further.

"Oh you think this is funny?" he remarked, now stood towering over the hunched man.

"Are you thick or just stubborn, I am offering you a way out!" the priest whispered forcefully, not looking the least bit afraid of the prisoner but more impatient. The yells from approaching guards warning the prisoner to stay back echoed around the small room as they quickly unlocked the door.

"Four minutes and thirty eight seconds!"

"Why would I trust you? Huh? You know what happens when you believe in people? Your so called friends?" Tate was tackled by the two guards and forced up against the wall as he struggled.

"Enough!" a guard shouted.

"Why do you think I'm here? Huh?" Tate yelled, but stopped the fighting once he realised it was a futile attempt.

Once he had stilled, the guards released their grip, only to wrench his hands together and cuff them. "Let's go," one of them said, leading Tate out of the cell, the priest following behind. That was it, his time was up.

They walked down a long, narrow corridor, which seemed to be just as gloomy as the rest of the prison. It was a corridor he had never been down but knew exactly what awaited him at the end.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil..." the priest began quoting Psalm 23:4 from the Bible, still deep in character, even though Tate thought it was a little bit overdone, and a more than a bit cliché. "You have fifty seconds," he paused to update Tate on his countdown.

"Look, it wasn't me, they said it was just a smash and grab. They framed me!" Tate knew another innocent plea would do him no justice, but it felt good to say it. Even as the lethal injection went in he would know he was innocent even if nobody else did.

"I don't care," the man muttered under his breath. "Forty seconds."

Tate rolled his eyes, a numb, detached sensation reaching new parts of his body the closer he got to the end of the corridor. By this point he had lost most of the feeling in his limbs and felt dizzy and nauseous and unable to breath, like a tight band was wrapped around his chest and threatening to squeeze the life out of him. Though there wouldn't be any need, he was heading that was anyway.

Something moved in the corner of his eye and he turned to see a blue butterfly fluttering down the hallway. He turned to see if anyone else had noticed but they apparently hadn't. Tate frowned; it was hard to believe something so beautiful could find its way into a place of horror like this. It didn't belong here, confined and in danger. It belonged outside where it could be free and alive. Tate laughed miserably, but it sounded more like a choked sob. The butterfly was a damn representation of his life and chose this precise moment to fly by. Something about that butterfly made him reconsider the offer.

"20 seconds."

Tate wanted to punch him.

"Why me?" Tate needed to know that if he was going to accept this man's help. He needed to know how he was connected to all this.

"Because I believe in you," the priest gave him a sidelong glance, and his expression appeared genuine.

"Ok," Tate said finally, and with that word it felt like a huge weight was lifted from his chest, even though the prison break was not guaranteed to work, and he still had little clue of what he was getting himself into.

There was a couple of seconds first, but a smile flashed across the fake priests face and there was a glimmer of excitement in his eyes. He lifted the prayer beads to his mouth and whispered:

"Hallelujah."

At that moment all power connected to the prison was terminated, and the hallway was plunged into darkness. A few muffled grunts and a lit torch later, and Tate could see the unconscious form of one of the guards on the floor. The guard who had originally poked fun at him was opening a hatch in the floor that lead down to the sewers, and Tate realised he must have been in on it too.

Winter grabbed his hands, working a key into his handcuffs until they clicked open. Adrenaline was surging through him, this was all real and it was happening right now. The shackles on his ankles were unlocked next.

"Now, hit him," the priest was ordering while indicating to the guard, and Tate frowned in confusion.

"Come on hit me!" the guard yelled. They needed this to look like Tate's idea alone, nobody could be found connected to the escape.

Tate drew his fist back, allowing all his anger, confusion and adrenaline to pour into a single punch to the guards face, perhaps a little harder than he should of. There was a loud _thwack_ as fist hit flesh and the guard stumbled back.

"Urghh, son of a bitch!" the guard muttered under his breath, turning away from him to nurse most likely a broken nose, knowing it had to be done but not liking it all the same..

Milton guided Tate towards the hatch as he began to climb down it before falling several feet into cold, dirty sewer water. He broke the surface of the water with a gasp, looking up to see the harsh beam of light from the torch illuminating his face. Milton dropped the torch down and Tate caught it deftly.

"Go to your left! Go left, go left!" he yelled down, before the hatch was shut and all he had left to rely on was the flickering dull beam of the torch in his hand.

* * *

Above the hatch, Milton climbed to his feet as the guard who Tate had hit got into position on the floor, closing his eyes. Milton unlocked a door next to the him as guards came running down the corridor. He stood beside it, pretending to be shaken up as he pointed with a trembling hand through the open door, clutching his prayer beads.

"He went that way," Milton repeated over and over, with a convincing portrayal of a frightened bystander as the guards followed his directions. Once they were far enough down the corridor, he whispered the codeword 'peace be with you' to signal his people at the other end to get ready to receive their inmate. He knew unless there was someone there to stop him, Tate wouldn't stick around.

* * *

Tate pushed down the rounded brick tunnel, its walls small enough to allow him to walk through the water with a hand against the ceiling supporting him. He was panting with the effort, a million emotions all fighting a bloody war in his head to try and come out on top. He just didn't know how he felt, but now wasn't the time to work that out. He reached the end, and gave a cry as he was literally spat out by the torrent of water onto the muddy ground beside a banking outside the prison.

He only had seconds to look up to see three figures approaching before a hood was yanked over his head and everything went dark.


	4. Hospital

**Okay, so this entire story has had quite a bit of a makeover while I've been working on the new chapter - a few tweaks here and there including a shiny, new summary. I've decided to continue up until the point where Tate and Bo meet rather than narrating the entire pilot (which I felt may get a little boring.) But there will still be another couple of chapter's or so to come, but this fic will focus solely on the meeting of the two characters.**

* * *

"Stop."

It took a while for the young girl to break through the half-conscious haze that was settling like fog inside her mind. When she did open her eyes, it was to bright fluorescent lights and the trademark humming of hospital machinery.

She was laying on her back, head supported by what appeared to be the innards of an MRI scanner. She vaguely noted a dull ache blossoming in the back of her head, and it wasn't long before she closed her eyes again to block out the harsh lights clawing at the inside of her skull.

"Please stop."

They weren't listening to her - the machine continued groaning, devouring her like a metal monster. Her eyes darted frantically around her. She wanted Stanley - she wanted to go home, to see her foster parents.

"Stop it."

This time they - whoever they were - addressed her, but she couldn't hear over the deafening roar of the machine. It wasn't really that loud, but exhaustion, confusion, and the build-up of fear threatening to steal her breath away made it unbearable.

"Stop it!" she screamed this time, the raw frustration in her voice summoning her powers to the surface to wreak havoc with the electricity. Lights flickered and flashed angrily both inside the MRI scanner and in the surrounding room, but Bo simply waited, staring patiently at the roof of the scanner, uninterested in the chaos around her as medical staff rushed to cut the power to the apparently malfunctioning machine.

The room was plunged into darkness for a few seconds until the lights came back on.

"Thank you," the girl spoke out to no-one in particular, aware her gurney was moving forward and out of the machine. She breathed a sigh of relief, glad the frightening experience was over. She wanted to ask one of the doctors the whereabouts of Stanley, but she was so tired and everything was just starting to slip away, so she let herself be dragged back down with it.

* * *

When she slipped back into consciousness, she was lying in a hospital bed - surprisingly comfy as far as hospital standards go - in a private room. She found her turtle tucked under her arm, which she squeezed tightly.

Now that she was fully alert, all the memories came flooding back.

The car crash.

Her foster parents.

She'd barely gotten to know them, and already they had been snatched from her like everybody else she grew close to. And it was her fault. She knew the people chasing them, - who'd caused the crash, were only interested in her. She screwed her eyes shut tightly, wishing there was something she could do. There was no point being different - having these powers, whatever they were, when all it did was hurt the people she cared about.

Her grief was interrupted as her doctor knocked and came into the room. He was in his early twenties, with a tanned complexion and short, ruffled brown hair. Bo knew his name before he came close enough for her to read his nametag, but he introduced himself anyway.

"Your Bo right? I'm Doctor Terry, I'm a resident here," the doctor tried to be light-hearted, but felt unnerved at seeing the girl's obvious distress. He awkwardly flicked through her medical notes.

"That's a cute turtle," he pointed to the stuffed toy under the girls arm, hoping to console her.

"His name's Stanley, my mum gave him to me. My real mum. I don't remember her..."

_Smart move Terry._

"So your 'gonna need a few more tests, but you're 'gonna be okay..."

_You're going to have to tell her._

"But there's some other things..."

He took a deep breath, gripping the edge of her bed. This job was never easy.

"It was a very bad crash..." he began.

The girl turned and looked at him. "They're dead." It was more of a statement than a question.

"I'm so sorry."

"They were my parent's for only two weeks. But they were so nice," Bo spoke quietly, her face contorted with grief. What would happen now? Where was Milton?

She would have to leave those questions until later. She needed the Doctor to know he was about to make a terrible decision. She sat up abruptly, her own concern mirroring that of her doctor's.

"The man in the other room, It's not your fault."

The doctor took a step back, not entirely understanding what the young girl was trying to say. "Excuse me?"

"You can't quit. You're a good doctor...You saved Senga."

He didn't want to listen anymore. How did the girl know about his resignation? He backed away towards the door. "You're tired Bo, I'll check on you later okay?"

"How is Senga doing?"

"I-I'm sorry I don't know anyone named Senga. Get some rest."

The doctor fled the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts once more.


End file.
